


Fail

by hellkitty



Category: Transformers (Bayverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-27
Updated: 2010-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 20:05:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Megatron's revival, he returns weak. And Starscream cannot resist taking advantage. prompt: Megatron/Starscream bdsm, foot fetish</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fail

**27 Mar Movie: Megatron Starscream BDSM/d/s foot fetish.  **

Starscream stepped back from the repair cradle, considering. Megatron was…different. Revived, yes.  Reborn.  Which also meant, perhaps, vulnerable. 

His optics raked down the new form. Only Megatron’s face was recognizable from his previous mode and even that only barely—something about the optics, and the hard, unforgiving set of the mouth, a frozen rictus of brutality.  Yes, that haughty violence was familiar. Unmistakable.

Megatron stirred, weakly, as the repair bots swarmed over him. He had made it back to the _Nemesis_, just barely, running on reserves of energon, his repair systems still fighting the injuries he had received in Mission City as well as his resurrection.  “Starscream,” he croaked. 

“Megatron,” the jet responded, deliberately omitting any honorific, standing just a little taller on his legs, to reinforce the height differential.  Megatron weak and on his back; Starscream proud and upright. I have been, he thought, a more than able commander.  You led us for…a matter of hours and look at the disaster you wrought.  I have fought so hard to regroup us in your second absence.  And here you are again.  Bringing ruination and the dank smell of rotten organic saltwater in your wake.  I have revived you. And still, you will question my loyalty. Question my abilities. I have brought you back from *death* and still you question me.

Megatron grunted, the tracks in one of his new feet grating around their gears.  “I should have known you would take advantage of my absence, once again.”

Starscream bridled. “Whom do you think arranged for that mission to revive you?”

“Even your incompetence bumbles its way to success every now and again,” Megatron spat. 

“I have had more success than you have ever known,” Starscream retorted, trying not to think of the intervening megacycles: the failure of his ability to rebuild the Allspark, leading to his failure to hold Cybertron, Dreadwing’s betrayal which plunged him right back here to Earth. A circle that had gone nowhere.  A spiral he was determined to gain terminal velocity and fly out of.  He would have victory yet.  On his terms. 

“Your successes have always been miniscule,” Megatron said, too weak to inflect the voice with the proper sneer.  The point, nonetheless, hit home.

“Perhaps,” Starscream hissed, clutching at one of Megatron’s newly ungainly feet, his talons slicing into the soft rubber of the treads, “it is _unwise_ to provoke the mech who has saved you.” 

“Saved me?” Megatron scoffed.  “You couldn’t even save yourself.” Nevertheless, his optics flickered to his captive foot with a kind of concern.

“If I served my self-interest as much as you think,” Starscream said, his voice going cold, “I would have let you die just now.  Or any of a thousand times before when simply by doing nothing I could have made a decision.” 

“And why did you, then, Starscream? We both know you hate me, envious of my power, my position, my control.” The goads were wielded by a weak hand, but caused the jet’s face to tighten, as if physically bracing against a lash. 

“Because,” he hissed, tightening his grip, gratified to see the wince on Megatron’s face, “I knew this day would come.  You, at my mercy. You recognizing at last how much you owe to me.  And look,” Starscream revolved his optics showily around the repair bay. “I have even given you the courtesy of making this admission in private.” 

“Ridiculous,” Megatron spat.  He tried to sit up, wheezed, his face flaring with alarm and pain as he dropped back into the mesh of the cradle. 

“Is it so…?” Starscream squeezed the foot, then ran his talons along the sides of the treads, the talon points clittering across the treads’ mounting studs.  He narrowed his optics as Megatron’s ventilation hitched.  He felt a sudden rush of power, like he’d felt before the activation of the reconstructed Allspark.  Before…it had all gone wrong.  Before Dreadwing’s betrayal had torn him away from Cybertron.  Away from his rightful rule.  This time, he told himself, it would not go awry. This time, he would break from that endless cycle of defeat. 

“Get your filthy hands off me.”

“Filthy?”  Starscream lifted up a clump of rotted seaweed from the control cables of Megatron’s ankle.  “I am filthy?” He splatted the seaweed against Megatron’s chassis.  Megatron wiped the organic slime from his body with shaky, ungainly fingers.  He had not, apparently, taken time to study his own new form before: he turned to his hand, revolving his wrist, studying the claw like digits.  He nodded, slowly, accepting that this was his new body, his new hand.  Approving the monstrosity of his rebirth. 

Starscream’s anger flared.  He raked his talons down Megatron’s lower leg, feeling the metal screech under his own talons.  Megatron tried to twist his way out of the pain, away from Starscream’s grasp.  Starscream struggled with him, digging his talons into the interstices of the armor, prying between the treaded toes. 

“Yes,” Megatron snarled, “you are fit only to hold my foot.” 

Starscream’s optics flashed white with rage.  He flung the foot from him, grinning evilly as Megatron howled at the sudden activation of his water-locked hip joints.  He pushed in, his talons dangerously probing Megatron’s armor. 

“I,” he snarled, “am a Seeker. I have served YOUR cause and YOUR ideals far longer and far better than you have ever deserved.” He leaned over, close enough to smell the rank rot of the ocean seeping from Megatron’s inner systems.  Corrosion had eaten away at his armor, making him, Starscream decided, finally match his exterior to his interior.  “And I have tolerated you for far too long.”

“You take advantage, Starscream.”

“I have not yet begun to ‘take advantage’,” Starscream sneered.  He gouged his talons under Megatron’s chest plate, reaching to pry them apart. For once, Starscream would take what he wanted.  He would not wait for opportunity to fall in his lap.  He had done that before too often.

Megatron’s clumsy hand—too large to bundle into a fist—slammed into Starscream’s shoulder.  The jet staggered against Megatron’s leg, sweeping his own arm under and up, grabbing at the wrist, pinning it down, tangled in the meshes of the repair cradle.  Megatron tried to jerk his hand free, the entire cradle rocking with his frantic efforts.  Starscream could not help but gloat.  “So powerful,” he taunted. “Look at the good your power does you now.”

“Starscream…,” Megatron warned.  “You shall pay dearly for this.”

Starscream prised open the corrosion-weakened armor.  “One thing I have learned with you_, Lord_ Megatron: I shall be punished no matter what.  Maybe, this time, I merely choose to do something worth being punished for.” Megatron whined in pain, too depleted to offer a real resistance or even a real howl to expel the agony of having his armor forced.  His already overladen repair systems protested at this new intrusion of signals and error messages, repair bots swarming toward the new injury.  Starscream ordered them away in their clicking rudimentary language.

The sparkchamber lay exposed in the rough edges of the torn armor.  Megatron’s vents were rapid, ragged. Water welled from his cabling as he tried to struggle—to free his trapped hand, to get any sort of leverage with his other.  His legs kicked feebly, but the clumsy huge feet did not allow him to bend them close enough to get traction against the jet’s hip. 

“Open,” Starscream said. “And before you protest, recall that I know ways to force you to do it.” His smile turned brittle. “I have learned those very well at your own hands.”  The alarm in Megatron’s optics fed him like the richest source of energon there was.  “Open.” More commanding. 

“You shall pay…,” Megatron said, realizing that he had already used that threat and it had done…nothing.  He had no recourse. What does a leader who leads by fear do when he no longer can wield that baton?  Starscream merely tapped on the center of the chamber’s cover.  He leaned lower, retracting his own chest armor, the complex geometry of his own spark chamber catching in the lights of the repair bot’s bright optics, as they swarmed to repair other damage. 

“You have always told me,” Starscream sneered, “That you desired me.  Then…why do you not desire me now? Unless it is not me but my abjection you desire?” He sank his talons into Megatron’s exposed underarm.  “I desire that as well.”  His chamber spiraled open, the white wash of light from the repair bots wiped in the blue gold humming glow of the Seeker’s exposed spark.  Sympathetic response began activating Megatron’s own cover.  He tried frantically to override, but his power reroutes were too busy with actual injuries, too busy relearning new motor controls.  His spark, red as heart’s blood, turned the light purplish between them. 

“Enjoy this while you can,” Megatron said.  This feeling of helplessness was disquieting.  Powerless. He was Megatron. He was never powerless.  But the spark energy was irresistible and his own spark, frozen for so long, then tangled in wet death, craved connection, craved the pull of life emanating from the Seeker’s own spark.  Like, in a sense, calling to like.  Life to life. 

He surrendered to a pull, to a hunger, more primal than his drive for power, for control.  He tipped his head back, the spark light between them flaring with wildly untempoed, uncontrolled bursts.  Static and sparks rippled across both their frames, the connection electrical and something deeper.  Megatron roared as a sudden overload ripped through his still numbed systems with a brutal force, rending his control, setting dormant systems forcefully on line. 

He recovered slowly, his processor swamped by incoming messages and alerts.  Starscream still stood over him, chest armor carefully closed again. Impenetrable. Inscrutable.  Starscream trailed a talon along the rim of the spark chamber.  Pure agony.  If he delved further within the chamber, Megatron would die. The spark’s shimmering core cannot endure physical contact. 

“Remember this, of all of my failings,” Starscream said, coldly, as cold as the ice which had imprisoned Megatron.  “I have failed to kill you when I had the chance.”


End file.
